Manna

Michael is a dog of discerning taste, especially when it comes to treats.  There are at least five different kinds of treats in the kitchen, one of which will stay there, stamped Reject.  Every dog I've ever known in the past was happy to take whatever was offered, no questions asked.  Michael, not s'much.  First comes the sniff test.  "Hmmm, that has possibilities.  We'll see."  Michael has impeccable manners, gently taking the offering from my fingers.  He's not a snatch-and-grab kind of guy.  If the tidbit meets his high standards, he'll lie down to eat it right then and there.  (He also lies down to eat a meal from his bowl.  Go figure.)  Failing the first test, I get, "Um, no.  I don't think so."  If urged, he will politely take it and then poot! he spits it out.  I made the mistake yesterday of not paying attention.  My mind was elsewhere when I gave him what I thought was a goodie.  It's still on the floor by the door this morning.  Maybe some wandering minstrel dog will come by and think that bag is manna from heaven.  Or not.

Stay safe.  Be well.